The Question Box
by InvisibleGeek
Summary: Everyday at sunrise, the question carved on the bottom of the box changes, so long as it was asked the day before. This lasts until the needs of the participants are met. The box chooses the participants, and they are bound to it through one another. College Juey AU.
1. Chapter 1

Jazmine stared at the interior of a box, at the question etched into artful calligraphy. It was a cheesy, get-to-know-you kind of question, and someone had sat down, for hours, and carved it into the bottom. For what? The possibility of a person being deeply moved by such a base, pointless question bewildered her.

As she gaped at the open container before her, a throat cleared. She jumped, shut the box and turned to the man whose garage sale she browsed. He was elderly, and his only companions seemed to be his various grandkids who bickered and ran the cash counter.

"Sorry sir, I.." She faltered, unsure of her own apology. "No, no my dear, there is nothing to forgive. I was just happy to see the box opened for you." He had her full attention, she was cautious of his sales pitch, but curious to hear what story he'd weave up. "The box doesn't open for people unless they need it, and it helps them onto the clearest path."

She raised a brow, doubtful. "The box wants to help me, and it's guidance is helping me through a dinner party?"

The elder nodded. "It is important to remember that unaltered truth is a frightening thing to share, but it's vital for the function of the box. Lies," he warned, "even innocent ones, can produce dark thoughts and feelings."

"So I have to be honest when saying who I want to eat with? It's just a meal." She removed her hands from the box, shook her head and smiled. "Thanks but no thanks sir, I can function fine on my own." She fished her keys from her pocket, ready to leave.

"The questions change!" The old man blurted, the force of his sudden volume startling her.

"What?" She breathed. She could see the whites of his eyes, the sudden intensity, and he hobbled closer to her, grasping the wooden container no longer than her two thumbs pressed against one another. "Take it, no charge. It has chosen you and you must USE IT!" He shoved it into her hands, throwing himself off balance and nearly taking her down with him as he collapsed.

"Grandpa!" One of the older boys shouted, running over to help the old man. Jazmine took a fearful step back. Customers and the grandkids all stared at her while the child attempted to help the trembling old man up. His haggard eyes never left her face, spitting out his words through pained teeth. "Take it! Use it with another!"

Her phone rang from within her pockets, and she inhaled sharply, stumbling backwards and unable to break his stare. "TAKE IT!" She bumped against a table, knocking it to the ground where assorted items scattered and broke atop the concrete driveway. "I'm sorry.." She whispered, hands shaking beneath the clasped box and keys. Quickly, she reached her car, starting the ignition into a heavy purr and driving off.

Her phone kept ringing with the insane consistency of circus music and her heart beat erratically in her chest. "The fuck was that?!" She exploded, yelling at her dashboard. The suburbs disappeared behind her as she headed to the city, away from Woodcrest.

Again, her phone rang, and she seemed to notice it for the first time. She pulled over to the side of the road, turned on her hazards. The was no caller ID. She swung her legs over the side of the seat and answered it.

An angry man yelled, " _Riley you unreliable piece of shit, you're two hours late! Answer the damn phone!"_ And Jazmine, already frazzled and drained, yelped involuntarily.

A pause, movement on the other end of the line, then, " _667,***, 0761?"_ The voice was calmer now, almost hesitant, but not apologetic.

"No," She replied, shaking her head. "It's uh, 0671."

She took a deep breath, listening to the silence. Cars drove past, the force of their acceleration rocking her small toyota. "Is everything oka-"

The line went dead, cutting her off and leaving her in the silence of her vehicle.

Jazmine stared at her phone until the screen went black, then leaned back against the car door and groaned. Through the glass above her head she watched the sky, heavy gray clouds obscuring it's vibrant blue hue.

The phone call distracted her briefly, and now that it was over she gaze was pulled back to the box. It sat on the mat beneath the passenger seat, overturned and closed. Jazmine could still feel the old man's sharp gaze. His polite demeanor had changed so quickly.

"This is fucking insane.." She mumbled.

Jazmine leaned forwards and grabbed the box, overturning in her hands. She opened it with ease, man's words from earlier relaying in her ears, "Take it! Use it with another!"

The only person she spoke to on a regular basis was her bitchy roommate, her friends had gone on with their lives after high school and left her, and her college friends wouldn't talk to her since she split with her ex.

"What do I have to lose?" She affirmed aloud, drawing her knees closer beneath her determined grimace. Jazmine took her phone in one hand, the box in the other, and called the unknown number back.

It rang three times, then the stranger answered, a reserved, " _lo'?"_ gracing her ears.

The words left her mouth before she could think, "Given the choice of anyone in the world, who would you chose as a dinner guest?" As she spoke the box grew warm in her hand, like coffee clutched in the cold.

Silence.

A flock of geese flew overhead, squawking. She began to pull the device from her ear, sure he had hung up, when he spoke.

" _Khalil Gibran."_

A cord of recognition strummed through her. A distant memory, on forgotten and seldom visited. Sunshine on porch, the ringing of windchimes and the singing of cicadas. Her grandmother rocking her, reading. 'But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart's knowledge…' she mouthed. She sat straighter. "How come?"

Their was shuffling on the other end, then a long sigh. Seconds passed. " _He'd never let me down."_ The was a resigned bitterness in his tone. The statement was loaded, and she felt a pang of apathy for a stranger whose identity she knew nothing of.

" _And you?"_ The man asked, surprising her.

"I'm sorry?-"

" _Dinner. Who's your guest?"_

Jazmine didn't hesitate, the name falling from her lips before she had consciously selected it.

"Niniane Wang."

A burstful laugh shot through the phone speaker. Her face felt hot, and she reprimanded herself inwardly. She was twenty years old, too old to be embarrassed at her own opinion not being accepted. "Whatever." She spat, ready to hand up.

" _No!"_ The phone cried, the voice loud enough to vibrate in her hand. She submitted, crossing her free arm, simultaneously pressing the box to her chest. " _I'm sorry, really. I was surprised at how refreshing your answer was."_

"Refreshing?"

" _It was a good answer."_

She brushed her hair behind her ear, head leaning towards the phone against her head.

"Thanks."

" _Why'd you call me? That was a neat question and to be honest it kind of brightened my day, but why did you call?"_ The man suddenly quieted, tone hardening. " _Is this a game you play, recalling wrong numbers and trying to collect information from them?"_ He was working himself up and away from his earlier content and towards hostility. " _Is this some sort of identity theft scam, or are you trying to keep tabs on me? I told you people I'm retired. It's over, so quit with your sick games and leave me alone. Haven't I been punished enough, or is this being down off the clock?"_

"What? No, it.." She narrowed her eyes, her carefully pinned back anger flooding out of her. "This wasn't a planned thing, I had the craziest morning and my roommate is insane and fucking destroys my stuff and so I have to fucking go hunting for yard sales out of town in shitty neighborhoods to try and redecorate and replace my goddamn desk lamp without going broke and I can't tell anyone about it because everyone is on my motherfucking exs side since we split up and it's not like I can talk to my parents about any of this because god forbid I take away from their happy lives!"

She was breathing heavily, her anger pulsing through her. She sniffed, and violently wiped a tear from her cheek. "Fuck off Gibran." She spat, forcing her tears down.

They sat in the quiet of one another's breathing, letting each other soak in their dwindling aggravated emotions.

"Sorry." She said, and at the same time he apologized.

" _I hope you didn't mean the actual Gibran."_ He followed, and Jazmine laughed.

"No, I'd never." She said, relishing in the drained yet relieved feeling of letting her tension out.

" _Good. You, can call me Huey, by the way, so when you're telling me to fuck off you're not insulting the dead."_

"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you Huey."

" _For what?"_

Again, like before the answer was pulled from her throat without consent from her. "For not hanging up." Embarrassed and not wanting to hear his response to such a cheesy, mushy comment, she rushed into a continuation. "Call me Jazmine, if you want." She then hung up, shaking with nerves and released tension.

The box against her chest cooled back to room temperature and she tried to open it, only to find it sealed closed. It was like a block of hollow wood, rather than a operable container. The impossibility repulsed her, and she tossed it into the passenger seat, swinging her legs back into place and turning the ignition. She checked her mirrors and pulled into the street, headed home.


	2. Chapter 2

Jazmine woke in a similar fashion to every morning since her isolation. It wasn't of the self imposed variety, and somehow that made it worse.

The door slammed shut, followed by the fluorescent light being flipped on and items being noisily arranged. To make the situation more grating on the sleep deprived college student, is the constant chatter spoken through the nose of her bitchy roommate, into a phone whose only setting seemed to be speaker. By the time the woman settled and headed off to bed, shutting the light off, Jazmine was wide awake.

Jazmine slept in a bed across from her roommate, closer to the door. She had found the location optimal for a morning bird like herself, childhood sleepovers having long since taught her to be quiet and respectful of others time spent asleep. Never wake your friends, leave them be if you woke before the crack-of-noon lest you be dam'ed. However, her scholarly companion was of the night owl variety; she left when Jazmine sleeps and entered the room early in the morning, before Jazmine's night cycle comes to completion.

Jazmine was never the kind of student to sacrifice her sleep; she couldn't comprehend the act. Slumber was the only time she wasn't conscious, the dreamless darkness giving her a few hours without her constant school stress and her parents nagging.

It also let her avoid the feelings she kept bottled up, much like her foul mouth during holidays spent with her family. No one needed to know.

So as the unnatural blonde's head hit the pillow Jazmine sat crossed legged atop her bed with her laptop, editing her history paper for the zillionth time because 'how difficult is a standard to meet' when the topic is one caught in a web of eye melting frustration? _Very_.

Albeit she worked, and slowly outside through the marsh green curtains - she had no say in picking those out - the sun rose.

With it, across the room and unbeknownst to the tired, studious girl, was the box, a split forming in the wood.

Eyes burning she combed her fingers through her neglected mane of dry shampoo and hairspray, the ratted mess impervious to gravity in it's unnatural angles. She needed a shower, and a break.

She stretched mighty, yawned and stood, crossing the room to reach her belongings. She shifted past old magazines and graded assignments, finding her flip flops and a dry towel. She sniffed it, and tucked it beneath her arm, accepting the faint scent of mildew.

Albeit as she stood to leave her eyes locked onto another impossibility, much like the day before. The box was on her bed, right where she had been sitting before, and it's latch was unhooked. It could be opened.

She dropped her towel and shoes, glanced hurriedly at the sleeping form across the room, then cautiously approached the wooden container. As she did her fear at objects moving beyond Newton's natural laws disappeared, or rather, was taken from her. The box didn't want her to be scared, she realized, and it was beyond her control to feel something it didn't want her to feel.

Pale hands grabbed the box, and raised it to her face, the inscription glowing faintly and ready to be read. To be shared.

" _Would you want to be famous?"_

She was reminded of her bewilderment from the day before, that such a base, mundane, get-to-know-you kind of question would be asked. In regards to the supernatural properties of the box - which she was accepting with an odd level of calm and a perhaps, non willful suspension of disbelief - the questions should be...better somehow.

Shouldn't magic bestow something better than a teacher's list of ask your neighbor, first day of school, introduce yourself, bullshit activities?

Even still, she could feel the impulse to answer, no, to ask and answer in kind, and the pang of panic when one is reminded of their device after not using it for a flicker in time shot through her. She closed the box and whipped her head towards her desk, spotting the plugged in phone and collecting it.

As soon as it was in her grasp, her roomate bolted up in bed, a look of twisted, tired fury in her face. "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD JAZMINE, SHUT UP!" She grabbed a pillow and threw it at the girl, who ducked it and scurried out of the dorm room.

She hurried past other rooms, and ducked into the nearest stairwell. This early in the morning most people were asleep, and the staircase was tucked away behind a wall, rarely used in place of the large main stairwell close by.

She leaned back against a wall, trembling, and slid down to the floor. Before telling herself to, unable to prevent it or think hesitantly, she called Huey.

He answered on the first ring.

Neither spoke, listening to one another breathe. She couldn't hang up, the box resting atop her knees and the smooth glass of her phone against her ear.

"So is that Jazmine with an 'S' or a 'Z'?"

A smile tugged at her mouth, and her voice was smooth, despite her barley smothered panic. She never had a lot of control in her life, but this box sucked what little she did possess away from her.

"With a 'Z'." She answered, hearing him hum in response.

Filling the silence, she spoke unconsciously, eyes dazed and posture complacent. "Would you want to be famous?"

His voice was heavy, tired. "No. The few interactions I've had with the public hasn't been kind. I've been more infamous than anything, in my youth. Fame, from what i've seen., distracts from what's important."

She understood, beyond most conversations, she entirely felt linked to his words. She could sincerely see from his perspective, without the context. The brief connection, the steady, short link between the pair, made her fear wash away entirely. Behind it, was warm, giddy contentment.

"It hinders drive." She finished, voice warm.

"Yeah," The weight left his tone, some of it at least. "it really does."

The box, hot in her hands, snapped shut suddenly. Jazmine yelped and dropped it, the clamor against the tiled stairwell travelling across the phone line.

The sound broke their connection, shattered the mood.

"Don't call me this early." The man spat through the phone speakers, tired and irritable. "I work the night shift, I should be sleeping right now."

"Shit, sorry." She squealed, and the line went dead, leaving her alone with static and a burnt palm.

She closed her open mouth, head tilting and eye brows raised. So, he had hung up.


End file.
